


Bayonets & Bloodshed: A Historical Hetalia One-Shot

by VincentSutcliffe (CrimsonFlowers)



Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers, Latin Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: American History, American Revolution, Anime, Axis Powers Hetalia - Freeform, French Revolution, Gun Violence, Hetalia, Historical Hetalia, Historical References, Revolutionary War, War, World War I, World War II, aph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 10:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8486350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrimsonFlowers/pseuds/VincentSutcliffe
Summary: The Revolutionary War; the taste of freedom had wet the lips of Alfred F. Jones, for his eyes had never burned so brightly for something such as the justice of his colonies. Though, his enemy was one he never hoped to make. Yes, Alfred yearned for the euphoric feeling of freedom but due his past, to the old relations  he had made he asks himself, 'at what cost?'(This is not USUK)





	1. Bayonets & Bloodshed: The Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:**

> FOREWORD
> 
> A few words to take with you within this reading:
> 
> FREEDOM
> 
> Free·dom
> 
> [ˈfrēdəm]
> 
> NOUN:
> 
> The power or right to act, speak, or think as one wants without hindrance or restraint.
> 
> -
> 
> BAYONET
> 
> bay·o·net
> 
> [ˈbāənət, ˌbāəˈnet]
> 
> NOUN:
> 
> A swordlike stabbing blade that may be fixed to the muzzle of a rifle for use in hand-to-hand fighting.
> 
> -
> 
> REVOLUTION
> 
> rev·o·lu·tion
> 
> [ˌrevəˈlo͞oSH(ə)n]
> 
> NOUN:
> 
> A forcible overthrow of a government or social order in favor of a new system.

The cannons that fired overhead rang most aggressively in the ears of both sides; British and American. Yorktown was not what it once was upon that smoky day of October 19th, 1781. The fertile plains of Virginia were being more than abused by the large legions of opposing men as they trudged forth in a plight of genocidal intention. Among the ranks of the blue-cloaked soldiers of both the American and French forces there rode Alfred F. Jones most steadily upon his brooding dark stallion, as he stoically trudged onward into the storm of crimson.

This reddening hurricane with certainly no eye whatsoever, being the vast army of redcoats that stood in position upon the opposing fields, their army forming an entire sea of burgundy as Alfred peered forth. He had the first gaze of it, for he was given the sinister and unsettling honor of leading many men to their deaths today, yet it was certainly for a wondrous cause.

His hope wavered somewhat as his pupils met the gaze of thousands of British men and he as a country suddenly felt more than small compared to England's immense military forces.

"Hmm... Seems like we have our work cut out for us, hm, mon ami?"

Alfred shifted himself with the turn of his head to gaze upon the blonde Frenchman, Francis Bonnefoy who was smiling widely with much fervor. His own azure eyes flickering with excitement. His golden locks were tied up with a cobalt ribbon, brows wiggling at the other with a very flirtatious attitude that Alfred knew that Francis was more than famous for.

"That it does," Alfred replied in a breathless voice. The sight of seeing so many troops lie ahead made his voice meek but Alfred refused to harbor fear upon his person. He refused to meet the cold jaws of defeat, to have to bend to the ways of Britain.

"Must feel kind of... unfortunate, hm?" Francis asked calmly, averting his own gaze to the enemy. "I know he meant a lot to you, Alfred. I am z'orry that it has come to this."

Alfred shook his head, taking in a sigh, eyes fluttered shut as if he was lost in thought, and he very much was. His entire life was at stake here. All of his people depended on him bringing about their freedom. He had to give justice and put aside his own softening opinions about others and fight for truth and justice.

No matter what he would have to do, it was mandatory he did not think about the other. The enemy, his enemy.

Arthur Kirkland.

But even thinking about the name brought about painful memories.

________________

"Big brother!" Alfred had exclaimed as he raced across the fields of what would be a strong and most great country. His country. He dashed over the plains only to stumble most clumsily at two shiny boots, nose brushing against the toe. "Oof!"

A haughty laugh emitted from the man above as Alfred rubbed his nose gingerly and peered upwards to smile at him. Dirty blond hair, verdant eyes, bushy eyebrows, a million dollar grin and a thick British dialect; that was Arthur Kirkland.

The Brit crouched down on his haunches to meet the boys gaze, for he was still quite small. "Have you been growing up big and strong for me, Alfred?" he asked with a cocked head and enlightened tone.

"I have! I have! I have!" Alfred laughed and began to punch his stubby little fists into Arthur's knee with as much force as he could. Of course, to Arthur it was simply light tapping, but Arthur could not disappoint his younger brother so he fell backwards.

"Oh no! You got me, Al!" he laughed as the little country crawled atop of him with bright eyes, his caramel colored hair falling into his eyes. He pointed at Arthur and giggled in a very childish manner for that was what he was at the time; a child.

"I'm going to conquer all of the nations!" Alfred declared, "Staaaarting with you!"

The boy then put his hands around Arthur's neck and tightly hugged him, Arthur looking down at him with a caring demeanor.

"And how are you going to defeat me? England? The mightiest country of all?" the Brit boomed most playfully as he squeezed the child back.

"I'll do it with love!" Alfred proclaimed and the two of them laughed together. Alfred laid atop of Arthur and watched the clouds in a sincere euphoric plethora of supple kindness. It was a simpler time for Alfred with a simpler understanding of the world. A time where he naively didn't comprehend a person's darkening intentions for him and he ran about the hilly brush of his country freely without the chains of guilt or the understanding that those closest to him would become his greatest downfall. Alfred did not know it at the time but--

All great power comes with responsibility.

"Big brother?"

"Yes, Alfred?"

"Can I ask you a question?

"Of course,"

"How did I come to be?"

Arthur turned bright red at the thought-- But no, that's not at all how Alfred was conceived, for he was not human. He was born as a country...

"You see, Alfred, you are very special... You will have many people that depend on you, and you have much responsibility to take care of when you have grown..."

"That sounds like a lot of worrrrk!" Alfred whined, and Arthur smiled.

"You will learn in time, dear brother. I shall help you, I will not abandon you, for we are family."

"But you will have to leave soon... Don't you? Now?"

Arthur let out a small sigh and sat up, Alfred now sitting in his lap sadly, looking away with slight disdain. "Yes, Alfred." Arthur said with sadness laced in his voice. "But, I'll be back before you know it! Grow strong for me, Alfred! Be the best you can be!"

"Yes sir, big brother, sir!" the smaller saluted and rolled off of Arthur's lap into the grass. He had most certainly had been growing, there was no denying that whatsoever. His form resembled one of an eight year old now, and Arthur was most impressed with how fast he had been developing. It showed he had promise as a future country under the aid of England.

Arthur bent down and ruffled the others hair before departing, "See you soon, Alfred."

"Promise you'll come back soon?" Alfred asked almost desperately. "It's such a big place here-- It's real lonely!"

Arthur let out a small chuckle and nodded, "I'll be back before you know it, Alfred. And if you miss me, remember your brother is right there." he pointed to his own heart and patted it, "They beat as one now, Alfred. We're kin."

Alfred placed his hand down on his own chest and listened to the beating, smiling widely. Once Arthur saw he was satisfied he waved the small country goodbye and left without another word.

________________

'They beat as one now'

His words raced through Alfred's mind over and over again. He could not understand why they echoed so tortuously that way. It seemed, the more he tried to shake such painful memories from his head, the more he could not bare to handle them.

"Unfortunate... Yes." Alfred grumbled, trying to occupy his hands by stroking the luxurious tresses of his steed. He had to keep them steady or else he thought he would strangle the other. But why? For calling his... His friend...? His brother...? For calling him out on the mistakes he had made that caused it all to come to this?

"Monsieur Alfred," Francis said a bit quietly, "You know what must be done. I understand what you are feeling. I know et must hurt something awful, but you must be strong for zeh men-- For your country, L'Amérique. The fate of zeh people rests in your hands." Francis shot him a small smile. "If it makes you feel any better, zeh English tea is not all that good, j'ou know."

With that, Alfred could not help but have his own minuscule of a smirk brew upon his face and for the first time in a while he felt more than grateful to have Francis by his side. Even though they weren't nearly as close as he and Arthur used to have it was still an endearing gesture on Francis's part to give the American the military aid he so desperately needed. Though, Alfred could not help but wonder if the French assistance was nothing more than a debt in a sense. As, they knew of America's potential and if the French could save them from tyranny it'd be like Alfred would be in debt to Francis.

Alfred tried with all his might to not let the thought eat away at him; he was almost sure Francis wouldn't use him like that, not purposefully. But if he did have a favor to cash in later-- after this war-- it'd be only fair to assist his friend--

Alfred kept skipping ahead of himself. He didn't need to worry about what Francis wanted until after his own revolution. If he made it out in one piece, that is. The British army and navy surpassed both the colonies and France's own men two times over, combined. It was positively astounding to the American how he had managed to get so far in this war even though his side faltered and suffered many low, fatal blows.

Nevertheless, Alfred and his people managed to pull through with sheer will power and the hope of having their own place in the world.

"I will not be tied to him any longer," Alfred said aloud to what you could assume to be Francis but possibly it was to himself more than the blonde. "I am a country with honor."

"And if we lose?"

"I don't lose."

"And if we lose?" Francis spoke yet again, hoping the American could put aside his blunt ego for just a singular moment and take reality into accountable.

"We die with honor." Alfred replied darkly. "All or nothing."

Francis chuckled as the men ahead of the two began to pull forward towards the legions of English, "J'our wish for j'our freedom es most impressive." He spoke, "May I speak freely, my friend?"

"Of course, that is what we yearn to gain anyways."

"Although he es a bastard, he raised you quite well."

Alfred let out an amused scoff as he flicked the reigns of his steed, forcing it to move forward. "My brother-- he did not raise me, I raised myself upward on the thought of the people. A provider loves you unconditionally no matter the cost."

"He did though, yes?"

"I hardly doubt throwing me table scraps is considered an example of 'unconditional affection,'" Alfred replied flatly as they had their horses amble down the hills to the battlefield. "He knew if I was to really thrive off of him, something like this would have happened much sooner than it has. What did he expect? To remain his well behaved little brother for the rest of my days? What about my people? When I aged, he did not look out for me, but I had an obligation to look out for them. If it's freedom they wished for it is freedom they shall have and I shall vanquish the entire world to give them it if it's what must be done."

"You are saying that it is inevitable?" Francis blurted out, moved by Alfred's uncanny determination within his speech.

"I'm saying it doesn't matter what would've happened," Alfred set his hand out and clenched his fist, "This is what's happening now. There's no going back in time to change what has occurred because now is now. This is our time. And our time is for our freedom." He spoke loudly and loosely, and the heroic nation didn't even realize that his men of both countries had heard what he spoke to Francis. It appeared his passion for their equal existence in the world had fired up his military, for they all cheered loudly and readily.

Most of the soldiers took out their rifles, quickly polishing their bayonets and held them at their side, hunger for bloodshed and justice hanging in their pupils for all those around to see. Alfred turned to his blonde friend shocked and Francis just leaned back on his horse and smirked, shooting Alfred a look of pure sureness, most of the expression going to his eyebrows.

"Sure 'ave them fired up, don't you?" He said in a most keen way. Alfred shrugged and pulled ahead, any mild case of euphoria in such a war ridden time washed away once he laid eyes on the British army. And who was there in front?

Of course, to be expected, it was none other than Arthur himself.

________________

Alfred sat in the garden, surrounded by many flora and fauna and crop he had planted for himself. It kept him preoccupied, kept him busy so he knew not to let his mind be thrown askew worrying about trivial nonsense that was brewing within the people. They kept complaining about how England was simply using America, sucking away its money through taxes. Alfred refused to listen to such preposterous nonsensical drivel. He knew Arthur could not have done such things, a man kind as the Brit could never have such disgusting intention.

Alfred held his standard of his older brother very high and he refused to let anyone tell him that he was not the fantastical family figure the American held him to be.

Alfred had his hands wrapped around a cup of English tea, breathing in the sweet scents of plant life that filled the air. The tea wasn't half bad, although he had paid quite the pretty penny for it, Alfred didn't mind in the slightest. He was sure his older brother had good intention for pricing it so high in his newly found colonies, and Arthur was the only family he had besides his platonic friendship with Francis, and it was against his better judgement and moralistic standards to attempt to question what his brother was doing for the good of Alfred and his people.

"Alfred?"

A voice the American knew all too well rang out and he could not help but swell with the teeniest bit of excitement, he stood up and downed the rest of his refreshment before setting the cup down upon the stone bench where he had been sitting.

Now that he had grown much larger than the past time he had seen his dear brother Arthur, he was sure to surprise the Englishman. He now had the physical appearance of a boy possibly fifteen to sixteen years of age, hair still a ruffled mess, stained a deep caramel hue, eyes like two glistening cobalt lakes on a hot summers day as he put forward undying anticipation to have a moment with his brother for the first rime in what felt like forever. Even if said moment was the most fleeting he could ever have, Alfred would generously take what was given and bask within the euphoric sensation even if it was only for a mere few minutes within his hopefully new and prosperous life.

His brother, already very much grown up himself was indeed slightly shocked at how Alfred had grown, considering the last time they locked eyes together was when Alfred exacted the appearance of at least a twelve year old child. The Brits bushy brows pushed upward in alarm as he was greeted by younger brother with a glistening smile.

"So it seems what you wrote in your letters to be true," Arthur mused aloud. "You have become a man simply overnight..."

"I wouldn't think overnight, brother, yet more so a few years." Alfred replied modestly, bowing his head in a plight of bashful respect for his elder brother. "Those who take their time with themselves are the better men, after all."

Arthur crossed his arms and scoffed with disbelief, "Well, would you look at that." the two fuzzy caterpillars that were the Brit's eyebrows were arched upwards as he gawked at the younger nation with incredulity. "A man *and* philosophical, hm?"

Alfred said nothing, he felt a bit sickened by Arthur's tone. Had he managed to upset his brother with his words? He never meant to do so, of course, but he was more than worried that the approval and kindness Arthur once gave him would cease. The way the Englishman spoke seemed as if he was...

Alfred didn't exactly know how to put it.

Somehow though, the American managed to work up the courage to ask before the silence became even more threatening to the two of them.

"Uhm, did I do-- Do something wrong, Artie?" he asked, his gaze shifting around the room before he met back up to verdant gaze of his brother. Suddenly, such an intimidating expression on the blondes face twisted up into a large, jovial grin. Arthur chuckled a bit and with that laugh ringing in his ears Alfred's shoulders relaxed a great deal from the tense posture he had locked himself in temporarily. He lightly sighed as the other responded.

"Not at all, not at all, Al, my brother," England said brightly, walking ahead of him, "I was just merely taking in the fact that lo and behold you are all grown up." he let out a short chuckle once more and began to head into the farm house that was owned by Alfred. "Let's have some tea shall we?"

The fact that Arthur had simply let himself into his home... The fact that he had asked for a beverage he could simply get at home for much cheaper than he could here, Alfred could feel the slightest bit of agitation brewing o so quietly in the pit of his stomach. Of course, Alfred was a very lovable, charismatic man and the thing he hated to do was fight or have to feel any of these dreaded emotions whatsoever.

He decided to bury it away and follow the other but then he remembered the complaints of his people and realized that possibly, if he simply talked to Arthur about it... Perhaps he could take care of the taxes or in fact, lower them?

Yes, it seemed simple enough, all he had to do was go inside with him, give the Brit his tea calm him down from the long and boding journey to his land and then... Then just simply ask Arthur to lower the taxes, it was no big deal... But...

If it was such a minority why was Alfred anxious to ask him about it?

Alfred followed his brother into the American's quaint home, and saw that Arthur had already began boiling the water over the fireplace, "Oh.... I can get that if you want too--"

Alfred was interrupted by when Arthur waved him off, "No, no, if there's one thing I know how to make it's tea."

Alfred felt his lips curl upward, 'It really is,' he thought to himself, 'Once I had obtained a sense of taste, his food was worse than I could possibly imagine.' Letting Arthur do his work, he sat down in the adjacent chair, straddling it, his head resting on the top part.

"So how was the voyage over, Artie?" Alfred questioned most curiously, trying to keep the conversation light.

" The usual," Arthur replied breathlessly in a snippy tone, "I got the docks in New York and..." He sighed, "You really must take care of those insubordinate citizens, Alfred."

"Insubordinate?" he blurted out in a formulation of repetition.

"Yes, they saw the English ship and began to hiss, and spit, and chant about their sheer hatred for my land--Alfred? How did you not know that majority of your people are hardly loyalists in the slightest?"

Alfred peered downwards at the floor, a thickening lump forming within the constricting refines of his throat. He felt as though he was going to asphyxiate within his brother's disapproving tone. "I'm afraid the people have been rather cross lately, it's been a situation I have been trying to handle, you see, brother, they are vexed over the taxation upon the land. You see, they didn't appreciate what your parliament issued... Tea is a very precious--"

"A very precious resource and if your people are to have it they must pay the proper price." Arthur finished for America, who stood there, pale as a ghost. He had never seen or guessed that Arthur would get so upset over something as trivial as the Tea Act.

"I think they would be more cooperative though, if the price was lowered--"

"Nonsense!" Arthur hissed, banging the kettle on the floor with a ferocious clatter "Nonsense! Nonsense! Nonsense! Nonsense!" he turned to Alfred and glowered at him indignantly. "The tax upon English goods is what keeps our companies afloat financially! I will-- I will not have smugglers butt in on such important matters! You must pull yourself together, Alfred! You must pull yourself together or I shall do it for you.

Alfred sighed gently. Although he knew Arthur was wrong he could not help but feel powerless to the iron grip of his kinsperson. He certainly had the American on a leash, and quite a short one to say the least. He did not want to fight his brother but something... Something deep inside him just... Just-- I could say that he snapped. It was festering, the detestation for his older nation was slowly coming to a boil in the immense pot of emotions that Alfred had kept down his throat.

"Yes sir," he said huffily, not being able to really stand up for himself whatsoever. He was a very submissive and shell-less nation at the time, and it brought America great pain to submit to his elder. He was utterly helpless in the situation and nothing he could do in his mind would fix his plight without hurting his brother and that was simply something he could not bring himself to do--

Maybe he could do something though, something that was secretive and plotted with the rebels that hid amongst him fighting for truth and justice and honor, not nobility like the many redcoats with paraded around Alfred's land with their rifles locked on their shoulders, the bayonets sharp as they were sadistically eager to shank whoever stepped out of line. It brought shivers to him, the thought of suffering the wrath of his brother if he began to encourage his people to continue their dispute...

Or perhaps, Arthur didn't even need to know in the very slightest?

"Good, you have to be strong, Alfred. Only the strongest survive."

A little bit more than six months later, Alfred lead the attack on the Boston Harbor. Disguised as Native Americans, he and many other sympathizers to the Sons of Liberty charged forth in an maddening act of patriotism. Within those six months of contemplation and steady planning of such rebellious acts, Alfred slowly began to feel whole once more, like the missing piece of his heart that had blanked out when he had defied his brother and all of his disappointment was suddenly reborn again.

It was heroism.

Alfred fell in love with being able to make a difference-- To save the day despite what the rest of the world thought of him. He seldom cared what they thought for he knew he was doing things for the better and that's all that mattered to him in the very end.

He was a hero.

He was *the* hero.

No matter what happens, what he did, he had to remember.

He was the hero.

________________ 

 

Alfred was the hero. He was the hero. He would defy all odds and use his determination to push through and accomplish the unbelievable. Although the British army had layers and layers of numerical statistics against him, he had what the did not at all. Honor, a sense of justice, and Frenchmen. Lots and lots of Frenchmen.

He stood against the other, his brother, his friend, his enemy, his army tailing behind him in a readying stance. He dare not smile, for he decided it would be best to skip the stiff pleasantries and just plunge right in. It had been years since he stood next to England, to Arthur, as he did in the past few years. Alfred's glimmering hope after this was all over, whatever the out come, he prayed he still have the hope that Arthur wouldn't treat him differently over his rebellion but...

Nothing really works out in the most perfect way you want it too.

He couldn't allow himself to think about such things right now, for here they were, in the midst of a war, and here they were, thousands of men to die in the upcoming stretch of days until one side was forced to surrender.

He had put aside personal beliefs, for it was best for himself and the people within his land. He would pretend as if Arthur was no one special to him, that he was simply an enemy he had to take down; all in the days work of being America.

"England." Alfred acknowledged the other, slowly dismounting his steed. He cocked his rifle and held it to his chest, the barrel pointing outwards towards Arthur.

"America." The dialect flared in aggression, tone he was now acquainted with as within war he learned Arthur tended to grumble a lot, for you could tell it made him all the more aggressive with the world and those around him; especially his enemies.

Arthur pointed his own rifle at his younger brother, emerald chalices which were his glimmering irises slanted downwards in two cat like slits. His expression mastered the feature of hurt, vexation, and sheer betrayal. "Here we are." he said in the most easy going voice he could manage at the time.

"Indeed." Alfred couldn't believe even after he promised himself that he would try his best to skim through the greetings and cut right to the chase of war, here he was in the back of his mind, after all he had endured, here he was still trying to muster some petty excuse as to why he was fighting his brother.

There they hung in awkward silence like two pale entities floating in the wind as if one was awaiting the other, wondering who himself would move first because they were both not planning on doing so.

For once, it might have been beneficial that Alfred was indeed an impatient man.

"I will not back down, England." Alfred called to the other proudly, "If you are thinking that I am having second thoughts--"

"Not in the slightest, America."

The way he spoke Alfred's country name was so fierce and very condescending but as much as Alfred wished to flinch at the cruel tone that had been personally inflicted upon, yet he could not bring himself to give the Brit such satisfaction.

The two armies sat in silence as their representations just glowered most tensely at one another, unsure of the predicament they had gotten themselves in.

"You know," Arthur hissed from across the parapet, "You still can be redeemed, brother--"

"You are no brother of mine," Alfred spitefully cut off.

"Well then," Arthur replied in a breathless voice, he pointed his rifle to the sky, not daring to break the gaze with America and squeezed the trigger tightly. The bullet snapped out of the barrel, whizzing upwards into the sky with vigorous power cracking in the cloudy Virginia air. "May your defeat let you have the proper realization of what you have caused!" With the raised tone of his voice, there came forth the onslaught of vermillion savages flying forward, over the parapet.

Loud screaming erupted as they charged forward, Alfred's own army began to shoot forth, the cries of war echoing to the blissful heavens where hopefully these men would go.

Yes, many would die on this day as Alfred had sickeningly been forced to accept the raw fact that most of these men would never make it home. Their sweethearts receiving letters in the mail and within such a shortened letter, within the few words printed, their hearts would shatter. Wives would become widows. Children would grow up fatherless. All because of England. All because he could not let Alfred rise up to his true potential and thrive. All because he had now acquired a taste of dominance. How he rose from one of an equal status like 'brother' to a tyrannical name of 'suzerain.'

Alfred refused to sit quiet any longer.

The caramel blonde scrambled back and had remounted his horse, eyes gleaming as he flicked the reins down viciously, his steed kicking off forward into battle. Ahead of him he spotted the flashing of honey blonde in the sun as Francis was sticking a British soldier with his bayonet. Alfred was very much so immersed in the sounds of gunfire, the sounds the blades sinking in flesh and suddenly his heart began a-pounding vigorously.

With aggressive grunts he fought his way through the swarm of opposing men, the bodies beginning to pile up something awful. Alfred growled ferociously as the adrenaline quickly kicked in as he began to ram soldiers down with his chocolate stallion which was neighing confusingly, his hooves completely running Redcoats over, snapping bones, smashing in teeth. He had little time to waste amongst his men, amongst the humans. He had a goal, the only way they would ever succeed in this revolution would be to beat England at his own game. To crush every part of him, including his physical form. The humans could not ever defeat England on their own. Yes, they could take down the army, the king...

But only Alfred could wage a battle against Arthur.

Only with the falling of Arthur could there be an end to oppression.

"ARTHUR!" he shouted the name like a darkening curse into the graying autumn sky, o so quickly becoming frothy with smoke from the cannons firing over head. No matter how many times a sword would attempt to pierce his flesh, they bounced off his skin like measly toothpicks. Humans could not kill Alfred that easily. The only way in this situation that Alfred could die, the only way he could be defeated was by the hand of Arthur, the embodiment of England. As it was vice versa, Alfred was quite tired of the other running from his final fight, he would not lose this many men on the account of cowardice.

"ARTHUR YOU BURDENING COWARD, CEASE HIDING BEHIND YOUR LEGION AND FIGHT ME!" Alfred boomed the words outwards in the most taunting manner he could. He knew that despite the clamorous noise that was fighting amongst armies arose, Arthur was sure to not be far from the American. The Brit could not have been daft enough to not know that winning a war involved conflict between both embodiments.

Alfred had managed to clear the parpet as he stood atop of the hilly brush, looking out over the battle field. He watched in sheer horror as the once verdant land was beginning to be stained an empowering red, dying the plains with the casualties of war.

This had to cease, it had to end.

"ENGLAND! FIGHT ME!" he called out to the ashy sky, eyes speckled with tears, hair blowing in the wind.

"Now, now, you've always been impatient."

Alfred wrapped his palm around his rapier, not daring to turn around yet to face the one he was destined to face. The words spoke burned into his mind, his eyes widening. Words once used before, in the past, how cliché. How absolutely, positively furthermore, cliché.

_______________________

"Can we please get this over with!" Alfred whined to his brother as he tugged moodily at his tuxedo, the fabric itchy against his skin.

"Stop pulling!" Arthur snapped, gripping the young man's hand. "This is your first national soiree. You must be on your best behavior!"

"Stop treating me like a child!" Alfred hissed, crossing his arms spitefully, "I'm just nervous."

The carriage ride was slow and with each wheel clack upon the road, the more cross and antsy Alfred grew. He sighed, his leg kicking anxiously, as he stared aimlessly out in the countryside, watching the open plains and cattle pass by. Arthur took notice of his nervous state and smiled.

"Now, now, you've always been impatient. You have to learn, Alfred."

"I don't even wish to attend this daft party," Alfred mumbled, "You made me look like a monkey in this damned suit."

"Majority of the nations are arriving in Virginia to meet the new rising star. Do not complain." Arthur ordered his brother most curtly. "You will be grateful for the support I give you, Alfred."

"Brother, as much as I appreciate your little gifts and your assistance with my people, was moving your men into my lands really necessary?"

"You have failed to remove those who refuse to uphold the law of King George the III." Arthur responded simply with the slightest shrug of his shoulders, his gaze meeting Alfred's sharply. "Your older brother must take care of you."

_______________________

"Oh... You are England's... Little brother, ja?" Ludwig Beilschmidt questioned, his platinum sideburns groomed downwards, his appearance straight and proper. His posture was upright and towered over Alfred who could not help but feel the slightest bit intimidated by the German's stance. Meeting all of these new places and people, all of them curious about the now grown up American was making him more than timid.

"I... Uhm... Yes--" he began but a man with the whitest skin he had ever seen jumped to the side of Germany. His eyes were a piercing red and his hair a smoky gray.

"Ludwigggggg," he groaned, "What kind of question is that! Of course he is Amerika!" he abruptly held out his hand. "I am ze awesome Prussia! Gilbert Beilschmidt! Brother of ze not so awesome... Ludwig Beilschmidt... Or better known as Germany... But he es moderately awesome!"

"H-Hey!" Ludwig boomed and Gilbert broke into a fit of laughter.

"Now, now," trilled a voice behind them, and the two brothers turned to see a man with dazzling blonde locks and a charismatic smile. He was dressed in a cobalt blue, his short cloak matching his military-styled shirt. To contrast such azure colour schemes there clashed crimson red pants with what seemed to be black riding boots.

"We wouldn't want to intimidate zeh new nation, hm?" his dialect was one Alfred was sure he had heard somewhere a long time ago, for the man's appearance seemed familiar to the American although he just could not place it. "Oh! J'ou must be a little curious to who I am, oui?" he snatched up Alfred's hand and kissed it lightly, form enveloped in a slight bow. "J' mappelle monsieur Francis Bonnefoy. Et vous êtes?"

Alfred was very much so confused with the French language, not knowing it at all. He glanced to the German brothers, a puzzling look crossing his features. "Uh..."

Prussia chortled loudly, "Kesesese... I see, you aren't very bilingual,"

Ludwig elbowed Gilbert, "Well, what do you expect... He was raised by Arthur."

"A travesty that was *and* is," the blonde man said and then turned to Alfred once more, "Do you have a name, dear? Surely that grouch of a country must have given you one-- My name is Francis Bonnefoy,"

"Oh!" Now that the American had a rough translation of the French perhaps he could finally manage some formulation of conversation with someone. "I'm Alfred-- Alfred F. Jones."

"Vhat does the 'F' stand for?" Gilbert questioned.

Alfred couldn't help but laugh and he shrugged his shoulders, "I-- I don't know... I'd have to ask brother, honestly."

"Obviously, it stands for 'Francis,'" a brunette with a large curl in his hair input in the conversation. The Germanic brothers began to snigger as the Frenchman fumed.

"What?!?!?!" Francis bellowed, "Lovino! Z'at es ridiculous!

"It's simple, si rana." the one called Lovino said, "Arthur got a little out of one's skull, was whackin' it, realized he needed to name the poor bastardo and lo and behold came forth Alfred Francis Jones-- Now, Ludwig have you seen my good for nothing brother?"

"Mi amigo!" a Spaniard called, "I just saw tu hermano en la cocina. He was bothering the cooks, you know how he is, if it isn't ziti--"

"If it isn't ziti he's more than needy." Lovino and the Spaniard said in unison, Lovino then nodded with an irked expression. "Grazi, Antonio." he then sauntered off towards where Alfred could assume was the kitchens.

"Well, isn't this hectic..." Alfred mumbled to himself, leaning back on one of the rooms many marble pillars. He felt a hand press on his shoulder and he expected Arthur to be there but instead, it was the Frenchman, who was holding two glasses of wine.

"Come, I z'think this place es doing your 'ead in, no?" he beamed kindly and Alfred gratefully took the chalice.

"Zere's a terrace z'at es just lovely in my opinion-- Your land is most beautiful." Francis told the American and he began to lead him out the side onto the stone balcony, the moon shimmering down. The Frenchman leaned against the edge, grasping his drink firmly and sighed. "Makes j'our a head spin, ey?"

"I don't think the moon--"

"No, no, silly boy," Francis said, "I am talking about the party. Lots of countries in the world. Lots of us, but still, we are very special. Very rare."

"Arthur made socializing look so easy," Alfred pouted a bit into his drink, "Seeing all of those people... It just makes me seize up a bit, y'know?"

"Well, that stuffy garb isn't all that befitting for such an event for one. I'm going to apologize on the behalf of Arthur for sticking you in such buffoonish attire. J'ou must be sweltering, no?"

Alfred let out a half-assed laugh, "A bit,"

Almost as if Francis was waiting for him to say that he indeed was hot, he ripped off the suit jacket and threw it over the edge. "Au revoir!" he bid the jacket adieu as it was thrown over the edge. "Not bad now, hm?"

"Much better," Alfred agreed, not even realizing at all how indirectly spiteful he was being towards his brother. "Thank you."

"Do not thank me, Alfred, there is nothing I have done that you should be thankful for; not yet anyways." Francis spoke softly and turned to the other, hands resting on the others shoulders. "Perhaps you can be thankful for what I am to say to you next. Please heed this warning, Alfred.  
"You're more than what he wants you to think. You cannot have fear of him. You must stand tall and show him what you are capable of. There will come a time your brother will not be your brother but a threat to your people's way of life. You must make your choice not as yourself but as the leader of your country. Remember this."

Alfred stood there blankly, not taking in the words as he should of, he just started laughing, downing his wine as he began to walk back into the party. "Ah, Mr. Bonnefoy, you are too funny! Thank you, but I'm sure my brother is looking for me."

"Big brother France--" an Italian burst through onto the terrace, knocking over a sleeping man with black hair. "Ah! Scusa, Heracles!"

_______________________

"There will be a time your brother will not be your brother but a threat to your people's way of life. You must make your choice not as yourself but as the leader of your country. Remember this."

The words of his French friend echoed through his head as he stood tall and intimidatingly as he countered the Brit with all of his might, sword pointed outwards at his childhood caretaker. As they circled the parapet together, Alfred couldn't help but smile at his thoughts.

"What is so funny?" England demanded as his own rapier was pointed outwards while they walked most tensely.

"Something France told me a long time ago... It was nothing to me at the time..."

"What was it?"

"A warning." Alfred concluded, eyes glaring like daggers into the Englishman. "A warning about you-- and how absolutely naïve was I, hm? Impressionable and naïve. You bent me and used me to your will."

"Whatever that bastard has told you wasn't true!" Arthur boomed and their pacing ceased, the tips of their rapiers brushing loosely against each other's throats.

"It was, though. It was correct. I wasn't your brother, I was your toy." Alfred growled. "You used me and my people as pawns to grow your own towering empire..." Burning hatred laced in his eyes, his blood was rushing more than he could say he liked, cobalt orbs piercing into the other's emerald irises. Despite what was being displayed by Arthur, Alfred could not spot a single ounce of remorse in those verdant chalices. Not one single spec of care or worry.

A normal person would fear such an expressionless look.

Alfred was no normal person.

"You took what we had... And supported yourself before us and... You called it... Care... You called it... Support..."

Both of the American's hands gripped the sword.

"You know what I call it?

His brother's damned eyes still flickered with dullness.

"Do you?"

"What, Alfred?" Arthur spoke in a condescending voice, as if he were speaking down in annoyance to a child.

Alfred swung up his blade and thrashed it down against the metal that was England's own weapon, teeth gritted he hollered:

"I CALL IT CHILD'S PLAY COMPARED TO WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN TO YOU!"

Arthur only slightly withered under the weight of Alfred's attack, his feet dug into the dirt below them as he seethed through his crooked mouth. He twisted his wrists around with his weapon and broke the channel that was flowing Alfred's rage into his own slightly smaller and petite body. He skidded backwards and then charged a wild laughter erupted from his chest.

"Child's play?" Arthur hissed back with amusement as the clang-clang of metal went back and forth against each other once more. "That's all you do, Alfred. That's what you are. A child. I've been around for centuries... How can you-- A child... ever defeat me?" He swiped at Alfred's head yet the caramel-blonde ducked down, slicing a bit of hair off of his head.

"I didn't ask for a trim," Alfred quipped as he himself lunged once more with his sword, attempting to jam it down in between the Brit's skull but before all was lost, Arthur gripped the blade with a gloved hand, the fabric tearing up. He squeezed his palm down, the crimson blood seeping down.

Arthur felt the pain wash over him and he began laughing as he ducked underneath the American's legs, his own blade catching on Alfred's boot, stabbing it into the leather. Despite the thickness of the fabric, Alfred hollered in pain and crippled to the ground, his rifle flopped over in the grass behind him as he gripped his foot tightly the tears spilling out of his eyes.

"FUCK!"

Arthur continually dug his sword into the wound making Alfred cry out in utter agony, his screams rippling through the air. With his azure eyes squeezed tight he tried to hunch over but Arthur's own foot stomped downwards on the American's chest, his arms pinned back. Alfred felt his back brush up against his rifle, finger tips brushing against the bayonet. Luckily the pain the felt in his foot did not blind his right mind of what he had to do...

"Tsk, tsk," Arthur clucked his tongue most patronizingly, removing the blade from his brothers foot and locking it downward on his throat. "Here cometh the end of the noble country America, loved, lost and forever under the wrath of the mighty English empire... Are you ready to no longer exist, Alfred? Are you ready for the painful and most agonizing end... As I rip the very essence of your soul out..."

"Y-You c-can't kill me," America hissed.

"No, but I can make you forget everything you've ever known, forget who you are, who you loved..." Arthur cocked his head and giggled shrilly like a bloody mad man, digging his heel deeper into Alfred's chest most threateningly.

"Do it t-then," Alfred retorted, "I would ta-take an amnesiac state t-ten times over than to have to rem-member what you've done to me..."

"That can be arranged," England responded gruffly, "Any last words, o my brother? the word was spoken in such spiteful venom which chilled Alfred to the core.

"You forget, England..." A hand wrapped around his rifle as he threw his head back to avoid the blade tip. With the slight of hand he had learned in his training, the caramel blonde threw up his rifle and stuck the bayonet directly through Arthur's gut, the tip coming out the other end. The Brit seized up, falling to his knees with a shocked expression coating his face.

"I'm the hero." Alfred said with the softest of tones, withdrawing the blade from his brother. He dropped the rifle to the floor and stared down at the other's unmoving body with a pitiful disgust.

"You see, brother. I am much more merciful than you will ever be." he scoffed in the slightest of amusement as he leaned down and stroked Arthurs cheek, a hand running down England's crippled form. "All I wished for was freedom. Freedom for the both of us... And when you come back with no recollection of this burden, no recollection of our conflict... The two of us will have freedom... Blissful Freedom..."

The chains were broken.


	2. Epilogue

"Are you sure--" Francis began as they reached the British medical tent. Alfred and the Frenchman made their way to the surrendering militaries camp where they were greeted by a large camo green marquee.

"He is my brother, Francis." Alfred smiled toothily, "I have to be supportive."

He slipped through the verdant flaps to see the man he thought he knew for the longest of times sitting and chattering happily with the nurse. She took one glance at Alfred and sighed in pure vexation.

"He isn't supposed to have visitors--" she began to speak in a British dialect.

"I have a visitor?" Arthur asked in a curious tone and Alfred raised a brow in testy manner at her, pushing past the woman and moving towards the cot.

"Hello Arthur," Alfred greeted the Englishman, "How are you feeling today?"

"Just dandy, thank you very much, sir!" his brother responded, and although Alfred knew he should have felt guilt that he had caused this, that he had harmed his brother... He couldn't help but not care as much as he should've. He thought this to be better for the both of them, that perhaps this reset of Arthur's character was just what the Brit really needed. No more spiteful ideas and no more betrayal...

"That's good to hear!" Alfred nodded cheerfully. "I'm glad you made a speedy recovery,"

"The nurse said I got stabbed in the stomach, so I was a wee bit shocked that I..."

"That you survived?" Alfred asked, and the Englishman nodded.

Alfred sighed and he sat down on the edge of the bed. "You see, Arthur, you are very special... You have many people that depend on you, and you have much responsibility to take care of..."

"How will I manage to take care of it all?" Arthur asked him and Alfred let out a hearty chuckle. "I thought that too at first, someone happened to show me the ropes... I can help you, don't worry about it."

"Sir?"

"Hm?"

"Who are you-- To me, I mean?"

"Ah," Alfred smiled kindly and ruffled the Brit's hair. He stood up an watched as that sparkle in those emerald eyes was lit with curiosity. The endearing look he once knew. "You see, I am your big brother, Arthur. Do not fret. I shall take care of you and never abandon you, for you see, we are family."

Alfred then left without another word, all the more prepared for what was to come.

He did what was best for the nation.

He did what was best for his family.

He did his best.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Valued Reader,
> 
> Thank you for reading my One-Shot. As you can see, I've been pulled most deeply into the Hetalia trash can and have no intention of hopping out any time soon. Please, it would mean the world to me if you could comment on this story, for you see, I very much enjoy feedback from you all. Any suggestions can be sent to my PM and you can also reach me at VincentSutcliffe@gmail.com if you wish to get in touch! Your support is the drive that keeps me pulling forward with my writing, so thank you.
> 
> Stay vigilant
> 
> The Author,
> 
> VincentSutcliffe


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